


Dollhouse

by SkinSlave



Category: Marilyn Manson (Band)
Genre: Abduction, Alternate Universe - Horror, Body Horror, Buried Alive, Murder, Necrophilia, Wendigo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:21:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 2,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22282531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkinSlave/pseuds/SkinSlave
Summary: Teeny tiny unrelated horror ficlets from various Marilyn Manson AUs
Comments: 12
Kudos: 17





	1. Mary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: implied violence/necrophilia

"In the Gospel of Philip, Jesus kissed Mary Magdalene. The disciples asked why he loved her more. He replied that a sighted man and a blind man are equal in the dark, but when the light comes, the world changes for one of them."

The phone crackled with a heavy sigh. There was a dull thud. Then Tyler's voice came back.

"That's not an answer. I'm just gonna assume you're bringing it-"

"Her," he snapped.

"...  _ her _ ... and make room for the case. I still think it's unhealthy, man. She's a doll."

"Noted," Marilyn huffed, clicking the red button.

He went back to the large black trunk on his bed. He held her silicone hand, brushed the pad of his thumb across the nails he'd lovingly painted. He adjusted the collar of her dress.

His disciples didn't understand. He'd shown himself to all of them, to the fans, to the world. He tried. But they didn't see him. They only saw the camp and metaphor and witty banter. They were blind to the meat of him, the red, the rage.

She was the only one who saw him. He couldn't ignore that. He couldn't just toss her aside. He needed her, needed to be known.

Marilyn reached for the face, lying on the pillow. He smoothed the edges of the silicone against the structural plastic. It wasn't exactly perfect. It couldn't be. The plastic had limitations.

He turned back to the case. Gently, he moved a few stray hairs out of her empty eye sockets. He could feel the ridges on her left cheekbone where it had broken against the hotel nightstand. He brushed the edge of her teeth, glued back into place. And there, at the temple, was the bullet hole, the moment when the world changed for her.

The face clicked into place over her skull. He straightened her wig. She didn't look like herself, but it didn't matter. When he kissed her, she was cool and still, exactly as she had been.

"They said, 'Why do you love her more than us?'" he whispered. "And he said, 'Why can't you make me love you like she does?'"

He closed the case.

  
  
  



	2. Joke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: restraint, masks, live burial

Marilyn jerked awake when the car hit a pothole. He groaned at his hangover and tried to wipe his eyes. His arms wouldn't move. Looking around, he realized that he was surrounded by people in black hoodies and cheap plastic animal masks.

"The fuck are we doing?" he asked, wincing at the sand in his throat. "You got a water bottle?"

The figure to his left, a pink bear, turned toward him, but didn't speak. Marilyn squinted at him. The offset print on the mask made his head spin.

"Pogo?"

The fact that he couldn't lift his hands finally hit. He looked down. A thick layer of packing plastic held his arms at his sides and his legs together. He flipped his greasy black hair out of his face.

"Ok, I get it. I'm a little hard to work for, so you tie me up and try to scare me. Congrats. You're the funniest, most original motherfuckers in history. How about you cut me loose and we'll go get some food?"

They seemed happy to sit in silence, but Marilyn wasn't. He couldn't tell if he was hearing road noise or the grinding of his own teeth. He tried knocking into the bear and the rabbit on his right. He sang Dope Show at the top of his lungs. They wouldn't even turn the radio on to drown out his whining.

The car slowed and stopped. The bear stood, then grabbed onto Manson's shirt collar and dragged him out. He hit the ground hard.

"Watch it! Ok, jokes over, assholes."

A cat helped the bear drag him away from the car. He could see trees and grass and bits of sky, but no landmarks. It was still so damned quiet. They stopped for a moment, then rolled his bound body down a hill. He landed on his shoulder in a hole.

"Fuck!" Marilyn tried to spit the dirt out and ended up drooling mud across his cheek."I respect your dedication to the prank, but this is over. Get me out of here or you're all fucking fired!"

The first few shovel-fulls of dirt only made him angrier. He turned his face away and tried to wriggle up onto his knees. But the longer they shoveled, the harder it was to move.

Tears broke over his lashes as he realized that he was the punchline and they weren't going to stop.


	3. Tiger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: mild body horror, body stealing

He stretched out on the couch, putting his big boots up on the armrest. Honestly, he hated them. They fit just fine, but he couldn't get the hang of walking in the thick soles. They were too heavy, too awkward.

He flipped through the search on his phone. 1969… Grammy nominee… broken leg… Celebrity Deathmatch… blah blah blah… Basic boring info. Where was the good stuff? The rumors? The leaked photos?

"Bri? Babe?"

He looked up to see a beautiful woman standing in the door, red fingernails catching the sun. She seemed completely comfortable. She smiled.

"You ok?" she asked. "I haven't seen you in a couple days."

"Yeah. I was just doing some soul-searching."

"Ok. Well, I'm gonna clean up a little and head out for that meeting. Get your feet off the couch."

He slowly complied, cracking a broad grin. She left and he dove back into the phone, moving from fan blogs to news articles. The picture was coming together.

A sharp pain in his leg took his breath away. Carefully, he extended it and let it bend backward at the knee. The skin he was wearing was surprisingly supple. It felt good to sit normally for a moment.

Rapidly approaching expensive heels startled him. He moved too quickly to resume a human posture and the joint popped. She came around the couch to see him rubbing at it.

"Leg bothering you?"

"Just a little. Gonna be home for dinner, honey?"

Her eyebrow lifted and the corners of her mouth twitched. He'd messed up. Slowly, she sat beside him and scrutinized his face.

"I have known you for far too many years. You have never called me 'honey.' And since when do you worry about getting dinner? What did you screw up?"

"Well… I told you. I did a lot of self-reflection. I'm gonna be a new me."

She sighed, satisfied, and leaned in for a quick kiss.

"If there's suea rong hai from that Thai place on Marigold in the dining room at 8, the new Manson can stay. Otherwise, the old one better get back to calling me 'kitten.'"

He waited for her to go, then settled in, soft and wet inside his suit. He wasn't sure what suea rong hai was, but he was going to have to figure it out. The old Manson was never coming back.


	4. Down

Tim had a cigarette in the corner of his mouth. He could hear it through the phone. He'd showered - finally - and primped, and was on his way to the lobby. They hung up as the elevator doors closed.

Marilyn smiled to himself and tightened his tie. They hadn't planned on going out, but plans change. He patted his pocket, making sure he had his wallet so he could pay. He couldn't make the boys take his shit _and_ buy their own beer. They'd mutiny.

The LED display switched from 4 to 3 and there was a soft pinging noise. It was nice. Quaint. The only thing that would make it better would be an antique needle display.

3 became 2, and 2 became L. Marilyn took a deep breath and moved in front of the door. It didn't open. He pressed the lobby button again. The elevator didn't stop.

"Fuck," he sighed. 

He could walk up one flight of stairs from the garage level. It was the principal of the thing. He was rich and famous. He shouldn't have to deal with a shitty hotel elevator.

L became G. The door still didn't open. The chime announced the floor as he passed it. Angrily, he pecked on the buttons, demanding to go back to the garage, the lobby, his room.

He sighed in relief as G became B. That was it. The basement. It was probably musty and full of water heaters and the janitor's porn mags. He braced for the smell of mold.

The tone sounded and the display went blank. The door didn't open. He could feel the car moving steadily lower. The big, red emergency stop button had always been a temptation. He pressed it. It didn't stop.

"Jesus."

He dug his phone out of his pocket and tried Tim's number. No service. Of course. Why wouldn't he be stuck in a goddamned broken elevator on a Saturday night?

A loud ringing interrupted his angry monologue. It was the elevator's phone, hidden in a little cubby. The hotel staff must've realized what was happening. He picked up the receiver.

"Hello?"

"Manson." The deep, rough voice sent a shiver down his spine. "It's been a long time. You've done well for yourself."

"Who is this?" he asked. "What's happening?"

A rumbling chuckle echoed through the descending tin can. The chime of yet another floor passing by was barely audible.

"Have you forgotten? I certainly haven't. I'm ready… and waiting. It's time to pay up."


	5. Sleep

"And then I woke up."

The graying man nodded and wrote something on his clipboard. He took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair.

"Honestly, these dreams aren't out of the ordinary. I understand that they are disorienting and upsetting, but please know you aren't alone."

Marilyn stood up and shouted down at the well-dressed guest.

"You're not listening! I made this appointment right before I woke up!"

"You mean, before you went to sleep?"

"No! I never went to sleep! Listen…" He sat again and glanced around his living room. "It looks right this time. Sometimes it's messed up… backwards… missing things…"

"Missing things?"

"Ok, doc. Listen closely. I called your office, made the appointment, walked into the kitchen, and woke up on the couch. I didn't go to sleep."

"Could you have forgotten lying down for a nap?" the doctor asked gently. "Have you had any memory issues lately? Injuries? Accidents? Medication changes? Family history of narcolepsy?"

"No."

"Are you getting enough sleep?"

"I haven't gone to bed. I mean, I know I have… at some point… but it's been so long, I have no idea when… how long I've been asleep…" He spun his rings nervously. "That's what I'm trying to tell you. Every time I think I'm awake, I wake up."

The psychiatrist put his clipboard down. He leaned forward. The movement drew Marilyn's eye. He lowered his voice as though someone were listening.

"I believe you. Who have you told?"

"Everyone. Friends, employees, cops, priests… I don't know what I'm supposed to do. Being the Billy Pilgrim of sleep didn't come with a manual. Otherwise, I've just been trying to play along, giving concerts, meeting people..."

His voice dripped into his lungs and he coughed. That shook the tears loose. It just felt good to finally be heard.

"There's a balance," the doctor whispered, leaning closer. "Play along enough to keep appearances. Don't attract it's attention and don't let it get you alone."

"Don't let what?"

"You'll know it when you feel it. When you feel it... run."

"How do I get out?"

A shadow flashed across the room. The doctor's demeanor changed. Smiling, he wrote a prescription for a sedative. As he wrote, the shade seemed to gather in one corner, heavy and warm. As though in a hurry, the older man stood and shook Marilyn's hand.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Warner. We're out of time."

And he woke up.


	6. Fan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: ignored boundaries, light blood

He pushed her up against the rough brick, tucked his knee between her thighs. His hands were bold. His eyes didn't focus on her.

"You're drunk," she scoffed.

"I only had a couple beers."

"Drunk on the stage, you idiot." She grabbed his wrist firmly. "Drunk on screams and flashing lights."

"Feels good to be loved," he smirked.

"I bet if I called you 'Marilyn,' you'd cum in your pants. Come on. Let me up."

He slipped the shoulder of her tank top down and his teeth grazed the skin.

"Try me."

"Back up, Marilyn." 

Her voice was cold. He pulled against her grip, intent on sliding her skirt higher. When her resistance finally sank in, he whined.

"What? Come on, babe. Isn't this what you came for? Don't tell me you weren't thinking it when you put on this skirt."

He pouted. She eyed his lip ring for a moment, then seemed to change her mind. Her smokey eyes fluttered and she took his mouth. He let her nip at him until her teeth caught the little steel hoop.

She shoved his chest and he landed on the pavement. His first shout was inspired by the fall. His second, by the torn flesh that used to hold his jewelry. He scrambled backward, cursing.

She loomed over him, suddenly dark and menacing. She bent and dug her fingers into his Lost Boys t-shirt. He yelped as she yanked him to his feet. She grinned, red lipstick and fangs he hadn't noticed.

"Come on, baby," she simpered, slamming him into the brick. "Isn't this what you wanted? Didn't you think of this when you put on that shirt?"

Her eyes glazed black and she licked a tear from his cheek. She leaned into him and pulled at his hair. Her teeth sank into his throat and, with a lithe arch of her back, shredded it. Choking and weak, he slid to the ground.

"Fuck," she sighed, crouching by his twitching body. "You've got me on my knees anyway, baby. But this… I'm actually gonna enjoy."


	7. Mountains

"I can't believe you're out there by yourself," she sighed. "You should've brought someone with you."

"I did. I have, like, fourteen hookers."

"Mar…"

"I can't even get inside without crawling over a strawberry-glitter coke-stained ass."

"Bri, I'm serious." Her voice shook just a little and he felt a twinge of guilt.

"I'm sorry, babe. I didn't mean to upset you. But listen… It's not the actual wilderness. It's a cabin. There's power and a real toilet and everything. Cell reception's shitty, but obviously it works."

He looked down at the phone in his hand. The call timer counted the seconds in front of her face. She sighed.

"I get that you need your space. But I need to know that you're ok. You need to talk to me. You need to let me in. Ok?"

"Ok."

This was the part where she would grab his first two fingers and rub the back with her thumb. A warmth rose on the back of his neck. He wasn't going to say the L-word yet, but it was coming. 

"How about if I call you in the morning?" he offered. "It's starting to get dark and there's no signal inside the cabin."

"Yeah, ok. You sure you're not scared? There's all kinds of things in the mountains."

"Yeah. Poison ivy and rocks. Hey…" 

In his mind, he squeezed her hand. She knew.

"You, too."

The temperature dropped dramatically. Marilyn settled on the floor in the corner, a woven blanket around his shoulders. Soft music from his phone kept his tinnitus at bay. He scribbled in a small notepad… circles and stars, bits of lyrics. He was entirely, beautifully alone.

And then he wasn't.

"Mar?" 

The call seemed a little distant, like the wind was trying to blow it away. Sighing, Marilyn got up and stretched. It wasn't like her to just show up. Maybe she'd had enough of his evasiveness. Maybe she was horny.

"Babe?" he called, pulling the curtain back from the front window.

There was no one there, just the clear night air and the shadow of the row of trees that shielded the cabin from the road. He flicked the switch next to the door. Light flooded the small porch. Still, nothing.

"Bri… You need to let me in…"

The hair rose on the back of his neck. The voice wasn't hers. It wasn't even a voice. It reminded him of internet videos of "talking" cats and dogs. Holding his breath, he turned the light back off and dropped the curtain.

"Let me… let me in… talk to me… Bri..." 

The uncanny yowling was coming closer. Its practice was paying off. The more it tried to speak, the clearer it sounded. A hollow thud, like a wooden bowl falling on the porch, made him jump. The planks strained under something's weight.

Heart pounding in his ears, Marilyn dove for his phone. Of course there was no signal. He'd have to go outside for that. No way in hell. Instead, he listened, hoping whatever it was would leave.

After a few minutes of silence, he peeled the curtain back and peeked out. Standing in front of the door, stock-still, was a deer. No. It must've been a man in a deer costume. The fur was ragged, hanging off in places, exposing some kind of dry rot underneath. The mask was a skull with bits of leather stretched tightly over it. The hunched shoulders and protruding ribs moved gently with each breath.

Slowly, the head cocked toward the window. It turned. There was no man inside, just exposed vertebrae and sinews. The black sockets of its eyes seemed to change shape.

"You're not scared?" it whined, reaching a long, clawed hand toward the glass. "There's all kinds of things in the mountains."


End file.
